


Taking the Underground

by Ellynne



Series: Rumple's New Mirror [8]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Gen, Ghosts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-29
Updated: 2018-10-07
Packaged: 2019-02-23 11:13:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13188879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ellynne/pseuds/Ellynne
Summary: Seven year old Emma Swan has decided to go to Maine.  But, she follows the Gold family and their son, Harry, onto the wrong train.





	1. Grand Central Station

It was field trip day at Grand Central Station.  Matt Jensen, smiled at the group of elementary schoolers and told them about the history of the station.  It wasn’t hard to keep the kids interested.  Most of them were at an age when trains of any kind were exciting. 

But, he had to leave out some of the more interesting stories, like how the deaths of people waiting for trolleys that never came during the blizzard of 1888 had finally broken through the legal bottleneck that had kept work on the subway system from even starting. 

He also wouldn’t tell them any of the old legends about the subway tunnels, like the monsters that supposedly prowled down there or the people who had moved into the tunnels and caves and started up their own, hidden city underground.  He definitely wasn’t going to tell them about the Astor Place ghost train.

As he wound down his ghost-free presentation, he asked if there were any questions.  A few hands went up.  There were the usual questions.  Did he get to drive the trains?  Who drove them?  Were any of the trains _his?_

There was one little girl who had a different question, however.

“What about the Northeast Corridor Line?” she asked.

“Excuse me?” Matt said.

“The Northeast Corridor Line.  It goes to Boston.  Where does it stop?”

“Oh, the interstate trains.  Those aren’t here.”

The girl looked outraged.  “They’re _not?_ ”

“They’re at Penn Station.  But—” He waved towards the stairs leading down a level.  “—you can get there on the subway.  Any more questions?”

There were, lots of them.  Matt soon forgot about the little girl.  New York being New York, three days had gone by before the police came by to ask about it and, by then, it was too late.

X

Emma slipped the little, metal counter back into the teacher’s pocket.  The truth was she wasn’t a very good pickpocket.  If there weren’t kids bumping into the teacher all the time, she never would have gotten away with it. 

It had only been a few days since Emma had been sent to the group home in New York, and she’d barely gotten the permission slip in time to come.  But, nothing was going to stop her.  She knew all about trains.  One of the boys at the last home she’d been in never stopped talking about them.  Because he was much bigger than any of the mean kids at the home, nobody ever bothered him—or anybody standing near him.  Emma knew about something called a golden spike that held all the railroads together and Japanese bullet trains (because they were fast as a bullet) and the railroad museum at Cranberry Junction where you could see old trains and cranberries.

When she’d asked, he’d also told her how to get to Maine on a train.  You took the Northeast Corridor Line to Boston.  Then, you switched to the Downeaster to get to Brunswick.  Emma wasn’t sure how you got from Brunswick to Collinsport, but they weren’t that far apart on the map.  Maybe there was a bus or something.  What Emma did know was that she had been found as a baby near a diner called The Blue Whale, just outside of Collinsport.

That meant, if she had any family, that’s where she’d find them.  All she had to do was get there.

The teacher was nearly as new as Emma.  The old one had been transferred to another school.  This teacher was still getting everyone’s name wrong. 

Emma knew about grownups like her.  Without the counter, she wouldn’t know how many kids were supposed to get back on the bus.  Emma looked at the number on it, nineteen.  She set it back to zero, then hit the button till it read eighteen. 

She was worried when she couldn’t see any signs or anything saying where the Notheast Corridor was supposed to be.  Asking while the teacher was listening would be dumb, but Emma showed Shelly Schlossmacher the candy bar she’d brought with her (always have a stash of food, especially before long trips, that was one of the lessons Emma had learned) and said she’d give it to her if she distracted the teacher while Emma asked her question.

So, while Shelly was telling the teacher she needed to go potty _right now_ , Emma was finding out she was at the completely wrong place if she wanted to get to Maine.  She didn’t scream or get upset, even if it wasn’t easy.  Instead, she stayed calm (she was really proud of herself for staying calm, because screaming seemed like a _great_ idea) and asked how to get to Penn Station.

Emma slipped Shelly the candy bar.  Then, while the teacher was herding everyone else back to the bus, Emma slipped away and went down the stairs.  A train pulled in just as Emma got there.  A family hurried past her.

“. . . can’t wait till we’re back in Maine,” the father said.

“Rumple, where’s your sense of adventure?” the mother asked.

 _Maine,_ Emma thought.  _This is it._

She hurried onto the train after them, giving up one of her precious subway tokens (Emma wasn’t sure how many tokens it took to get to Maine but she _thought_ she had enough).

It was fancier inside than she’d expected.  It looked more like a living room—a really fancy, rich person’s living room—than any subway car or bus Emma had ever seen.  There was even an old fashioned, iron stove burning in the corner.

 _Is that even safe?_   Emma wondered.

Emma tried to figure out where to sit.  She’d thought she’d just be grabbing a seat, but these were all sofas and overstuffed chairs.  There wasn’t anywhere she kid sit by herself. 

Also, the rest of the people looked . . . kind of strange.  Their clothes were all sort of weird and kind of old-fashioned.  Also, all of them looked really pale.

Maybe they worked the night shift?

Trying to look like she wasn’t scared and she knew exactly what she was doing, Emma took a seat sort of near the family, not so close that they’d think she was trying to sit by them (and notice she didn’t have a family) but near enough anyone else might think she was with them (she hoped).

The train started up.  The parents were deep in conversation about school, normal parent stuff (Emma might not have parents, but she knew normal when she saw it).  Emma looked at their son.  He was really big—maybe two or three years older than her—with a scar on his forehead (not a fight-scar or a got-hit-by-something-somebody-threw-at-you scar, so nothing important).

Then, the light in the train changed.  It turned a strange, sickly green.  The father’s hair began to curl, and he was covered with gold-green scales.

XXXXX

For some reason, when the police finished talking to Matt Jensen, he couldn’t shake the feeling that really should have warned that girl about the ghost train.


	2. Harry and Emma on a Train

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a live girl on the ghost train. Also, a deck of Uno cards.

Emma got up slowly and, very casually, began to head to the door at the end of the car.  But, she stopped when she looked out the windows where the green light was coming.  A dolphin was looking in, smiling at her.  Then, it turned and swam away, but she could see plenty of other fish darting around them.

“Yeah, we’re underwater,” the boy from the family said.  Emma started, not sure how he’d snuck up behind her.  The boy looked at her curiously.  “You’re alive, aren’t you?”

“I—I’m what?”

“Alive.” He sat down on one of the overstuffed sofas, putting down his backpack.  “This is a ghost train.  I think everyone else on it is a ghost except my family and you.”

“A ghost train?”  She looked out the window.  Nothing he said made any sense.  “I need to go to Maine!”

“Oh.”  The boy looked out the window at the ocean going by them.  “That could be a problem.  We’re going to London.”

“London?  What London?  There’s a London in Maine?”

“No, not Maine.  We came from Maine.  We’re going to London, England.”

“England!”

“Uh, yeah.  Look, maybe you should talk to my parents.  They could call your family and explain . . . uh . . . something.”

Emma stole a quick glance at the boy’s parents, who were curled up on one of the velvet sofas watching the scenery go past.  “Your dad’s green.”

The boy looked embarrassed.  “Yeah, that.  He said that it might happen.  Going through magic places does that to him.  Sometimes.”

“Magic,” she put all the scorn in that that she’d learned after four hard years in foster care and half a week in New York.

The boy rolled his eyes.  “We’re in the middle of the ocean in a ghost train.  Yeah, magic.  Look, I’m Harry.  We’re the Golds.  My dad’s not scary.  Really.”

She looked at Harry’s dad.  He was green.  He had scales.  He had _claws._

Harry unzipped his backpack.  “Fine.  Whatever,” he told her, pulling out a deck of cards.  “Do you know how to play Uno?”

X

Rumplestiltskin was enjoying his first trip away from Storybrooke in years.  As Belle leaned against him, an arm around his waist, he thought it was a pity they hadn’t been able to bring Dove or someone who could keep an eye on Harry during the evenings. 

“I miss your scales, sometimes,” Belle said, cuddling up to him.

“You said you liked my human looks.”

“No reason I can’t like both.  And the leather pants.  I like the leather pants.” She smiled mischievously. “I packed yours. Business suits are all well and good, but I thought you might want to go for the mad, scary wizard look when we meet the headmaster.”

Rumplestiltskin chuckled.  “I saw.  That’s why I packed _your_ leather pants.” The very short, leather pants with the very low cut poet shirt and frock coat.

Belle blushed.  “You didn’t!”

He grinned evilly.  “All right, that’s not why I packed them.  I packed them because you look wonderful in them.  And because it might give the headmaster a heart attack if he sees you in them.  You might wear them just for that.”

“Oh? And not because you like them?”

“Any reason you want is fine with me.  We could—”  Rumple stopped, noticing a bright light up ahead.  “You’ll want to see it.”

As the light grew brighter, they could make out the ship up ahead, lying on the ocean floor.  Lights were strung everywhere, as thick as a Christmas tree.  Along the decks, women in long dresses and elaborate hats promenaded alongside men in tweed suits, parasols keeping off the invisible sun. 

At the same time, though the ship’s metal sides were still clearly there, they could see inside the ship.  There were grand banquet halls and staterooms.  In a glittering ballroom, people in the elaborate evening dress of another era whirled and danced.  The music of the live band (or the once-alive band) drifted across the waves.

“What is it?” Belle whispered.

“The Titanic.”

Belle took a second look at the seemingly happy scene. “How sad.”

“Is it?” Rumplestiltskin asked. “The ship exists in a memory of all the days before.  For them, there isn’t any iceberg and never will be.”

“But, still.  Is that where they spend eternity?”

“Oh, it’s the _ship’s_ ghosts, not the people’s.  See all the women and children on the upper decks?  That’s first class.  There were only four women in first class who didn’t make it off the ship.  And there _might_ have been a child in first class, but some people claim she got mixed up with some children from second and third.  But, they’re all there.  It’s the ship’s memories you’re looking at, not theirs.”

“Ships have ghosts?”

“Some of them.  The ones that take on a life of their own.  The Titanic certainly did.”   

“It’s still sad.  Is there a reason the train is going by it?  Are we going to pass all the ghost ships between here and England?”

“I think this is the only one.  We’re on the Astor Place ghost train.  The Titanic is the resting place of the most famous member of the entire Astor family.  It was easy to nudge the train to go past it.  And, then, push onto England.”  It was the reason they had to change trains.  The ghost train that ran through Storybooke might be able to get them safely across the town line, not being in quite the same reality as the curse, but nothing Rumplestiltskin could have done would have gotten it into the ocean.  New York was the best he could manage.

“Are there any more sights ahead?”

“I think we pass two or three Merfolk towns.  Oh, and there’s a sunken, lost city.  Interesting tale, there.  A U-boat captain, back in the first world war, wound up there after the rest of his crew went mad or got turned into dolphins.  They _really_ shouldn’t have sunk that ship. . . .”

“Uh, Mum, Dad?”

Harry had come up beside them while they were talking.  There was a small, blond girl standing by him.  She was so pale, Rumplestiltskin hadn’t realized at first that something was wrong, but he could see it now.

“Is there something you want to tell us, Harry?”

“Uh, yeah.  This is Emma.  She’s a live girl.  She got on the wrong train.  Does your cell phone work here?  Maybe we can call somebody.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, there really is supposed to be an Astor Place ghost train in New York. It was a private train with every luxury. I've read the furniture was leather instead of velvet, but I wanted to go with more of a Victorian feel.
> 
> The only explanation I've ever come up with for the train the Queens of Darkness tried to wreck in the fifth season is that it was a ghost train. There couldn't have been a real train going through the town during any of its different curses. Or that's how it seems to me.


	3. Stray Cat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma and the Golds spend a little time in London and Hogwarts.

When the Golds told Emma they were going to a magic school, Emma didn’t think things could get any better.  They’d already spent a day in London, where they’d done a lot of shopping, had something called ‘high tea’ (Emma had been scared when she heard that, but it didn’t mean what she thought it did and had lots of desserts), and gone to see a play called a pantomime about Snow White that was really silly and not like the movie.  Mr. Gold sniggered a lot during it. 

It had been fun, even the part where Mrs. Gold insisted on getting Emma new clothes at a place called Harrods.  Most times, when Emma got new clothes, it meant somebody took her to the thrift store, picked out a few things, and made Emma try them on to make sure they were two to three sizes too big so she could grow into them.  Mrs. Gold (or Aunt Belle, as she asked Emma to call her) wanted to know if she liked the stuff or would like a different color and it was weird.  She still had to try things on—which was still _boring_ —but Mrs. Gold (or Aunt Belle) didn’t think they should be more than one size too big. 

“You should get to wear them for a little while before you outgrow them,” Aunt Belle said, as if Emma was used to clothes the right size (the ones she’d been wearing when she got on the train were kind of tight, just not tight enough to for new ones).  

Besides clothes, Harrods had a bookstore.  Aunt Belle started picking books off the shelves.  “We should get you some, Emma.  Do you have any favorite stories?”

“I don’t read much,” Emma said.

Aunt Belle stared at Emma.  Emma was pretty sure it was the same look she’d given Mr. Gold when he grew scales.  “But—but—New York has such a wonderful library.”

Did it?  Emma shrugged. “I’ve never been.”

This was the wrong thing to say.  Aunt Belle’s eyes narrowed and she began pulling book after book off the shelf, including chapter books.

“I can’t read those,” Emma protested.

“Someone can read them to you,” Aunt Belle said. 

Emma didn’t think anyone would but she saw the look in Aunt Belle’s eye and didn’t argue.  Harry looked up from a book he’d found about then ( _Boa Constrictors of Brazil_ ).  His eyes went wide when he saw the stack.

“Help me,” Emma mouthed.

Harry looked at his mother, mouthed, “You’re on your own,” and went back to boa constrictors.

Mr. Gold (or Uncle Gold [Emma asked if he had a first name. He said, “Yes. Mister”]) hadn’t gone shopping, though he met them at Harrods for high tea.  He had two large packages with him that said, “Madam Malkin’s.”  Emma sounded out “Malkin” slowly, not sure if she was getting it right.

“We’ll open them when we get back to the hotel,” Uncle Gold said.  You can tell me what you think of them, then.”

Emma wasn’t sure what “tell me what you think of them” meant.  She kind of understood getting her clothes.  The Golds weren’t normal people, and Emma didn’t think they wanted people to notice they weren’t normal people.  That meant Emma had to look like she belonged with them, so she needed clothes that looked like she belonged with them.

The books were different.  But, Emma had figured out for herself that Aunt Belle was kind of crazy when it came to books.  She hadn’t just bought a big stack for Emma, she’d bought big stacks for herself and Harry, too.

But, there wasn’t anything else she needed to fit in.  So, why would Mr. Gold (he was much more a Mister than an Uncle) get her anything? 

When they got back to the hotel, Emma opened the first box.  Inside was a dress.  It was a fancy dress, dark red with a lace collar and sash.  Emma stared at it, not sure why Mr. was showing it to her.  It _couldn’t_ be for her.  “Is it a Christmas dress?” Emma asked uncertainly.  Maybe Mr. Gold got it for some little girl back home?  And he just wanted to know what she thought about it?

“It’s a blending-in dress,” Mr. Gold said. “We’re going to a wizard’s school tomorrow.  There’s a cloak in the other box.”

Blending in.  Emma understood that.  It wasn’t like she _belonged_ with them, so it was OK.

And, when Mrs. Gold (because she wasn’t really her aunt) read them a bedtime story that night after the pantomime, that was because she was reading _Harry_ a bedtime story.  It didn’t matter if it was one of the books she’d bought Emma.  _Harry_ was the one getting a bedtime story.  Emma just happened to be there.

The next day, they went to a place called King’s Cross Station and got on a train called the Hogwarts Express with Emma and everyone else wearing blending-in clothes (which meant a scary lot of leather for the grown-ups).  That was how Emma wound up sitting in a hallway playing a game with Harry while his parents met with the headmaster (that was England talk for ‘principle.’ Only Aunt Belle said this was Scotland, which was still the same country but not really.  Emma wasn’t sure how that worked).

The game was called Encore. You had to keep coming up with songs that were about something or that had the right word in them, taking turns. First person who couldn’t come up with a song lost that round.  Emma thought it was too bad the game didn’t have bad words.  She bet she knew lots more songs with bad words than Harry would.

The game was OK, but the school was _boring_.  This place was supposed to have witches and wizards and all sorts of stuff in it.  It should be more exciting than trying to come up with songs with the word ‘around’ in it (Emma had sung “Ring Around the Rosies” even if it was a baby song, because she wasn’t going to just let Harry win).  But, it wasn’t exciting.  It was boring, boring, _boring._

It was Harry’s turn again.  He drew a card and rolled the dice.  It came up yellow for subject.  Harry read down the list.  “Girls names, from N to Z.” Harry looked at it blankly.  Then, he looked at Emma, as if that might give him an idea even if she did start with ‘E.’ Finally, he started to warble uncertainly.

“ _Wait till the sun shines, Nellie, when the clouds go drifting by._ ”  He stopped singing.  “OK, your turn.”

“Uh. . . .”  Girls names.  Emma had to know _lots_ more girls names than Harry.  She remembered one of the videos they showed the kids at her last group home.  “ _Sleep, sleep, sleep Sleeping Beauty.”_

“Sleeping Beauty isn’t a name.”

“Is so.”

“She was Aurora.”

Emma crossed her arms and stuck out her chin. “She was Sleeping Beauty.  Your turn.”

“Fine.  _I’ve got a girl named Rama Lama Lama Lama Ding Dong_ —and don’t say it’s not a name.  If Sleeping Beauty counts, so does Rama Lama Ding Dong.”

“Fine.  _Thumbelina, Thumbelina, tiny little thing—_ “

“Do you know any songs that aren’t about fairy tales?”

“I watch TV.  What’s wrong with that?”

“My mum’d say read a book.”

“You don’t learn songs from books.  Your turn.”

“Fine.  _My Sal she is a fairy fay_ —” He ground out _fairy_ like it was a swear word, just to show her. “—S _ings polly-wolly-doodle all the day—_ ”

“Do you know any _normal_ songs?”

“Mum likes old songs.  So does Dad.  Your turn.”

“Hmph.  Uh. . . .” She tried to think of other movies.  Cinderella?  That wouldn’t work.  Little Mermaid?  No, she was Ariel.  Oh, but there’d been that other song!  “ _They come flocking to my cauldron crying, ‘Spells, Ursula, please! And do I help them?  Yes, indeed!_ ”

“What’s that?”

“You know, the soul song. From Little Mermaid.”

“What’s that?”

“Little Mermaid.  Don’t you watch _any_ movies?”

“There’s no movie theater in our town.”

“What?  That’s crazy!”

Harry shrugged.  “It’s a small town.”

“Well, what about videos?  Have you seen videos?”

“Is Little Mermaid a Disney one?  Dad doesn’t like those.”

Emma knew there was something weird about Mr. Gold (he had _scales_ and traveled with _ghosts_ ) but she didn’t know it was _this_ bad.

“And what are you doing here?”

Harry turned while Emma peered around Harry.  A man in black robes was walking toward them.  But, when he saw Harry’s face, he stopped cold.

Mr. Gold had told Emma and Harry to put their cloaks on and pull up their hoods before they got off the train by the school.  But, he’d made sure Harry’s hood was pulled down so no one could see his face.  There was nothing strange about that.  _Lots_ of people didn’t like showing their faces, especially if there were cops around.  But, it was funny he only cared when they got to the school.

Or that’s what Emma thought till she saw wizard man’s eyes bug out.

“ _Harry Potter?_ ” the man said.

“Er, it’s Harry Gold, sir,” Harry said.  “And this is my. . . .” (for a minute, Emma thought he was going to forget the story he was supposed to tell) “. . . . cousin, Emma.”

“Hi,” Emma said, trying to decide if she liked the man or not.  He looked kind of scary, with his long nose and black hair, but so had a cat at one home she was at, a stray with half an ear missing who was really good at sitting in her lap and purring when she needed a cat to do that.

The man stopped looking surprised and stood up a little straighter.  “I am Professor Snape, one of the teachers at this school.  Your . . . parents are meeting with the headmaster?” Emma wondered what word he was going to use instead of ‘parents.’  She wondered if it was a bad one.  She was pretty sure he was going to use a bad one.

Harry nodded.  “Yes, sir.  What do you teach, sir?”

“Potions.  Do you have any idea what that entails?”

In-tails?  Emma wasn’t sure what that meant.  Didn’t everything with tails have out-tails?  If the tails were inside, how would you know it?  Or did potions have something to do with turtles?  She’d seen a movie on TV with a giant turtle that flew through space and shot fire out its shell.  Did wizards have turtles like that?

“A little, sir,” Harry said. “My parents make them.”

“Really?  Tell me, what is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?”

“Uh. . . .” Harry looked like he wasn’t sure how to answer that without being rude.  “No difference?  They’re the same plant.  Also called aconite.  You can make medicine out of it but you have to be careful.  It’s really poisonous.  Dad only uses it to keep werewolves away.”

The man was looking at Harry like maybe _he_ was a giant, space-flying turtle.  “Werewolves?  And what do you know about werewolves?”

“Uh. . . .” That seemed to be how Harry answered any question teachers asked him.  But, Emma leaned in.  She wanted to know what about werewolves. “When evle—anvil—uh, _evaluating_ shapechangers, start with the IVOLS scale,” Harry said.

The teacher looked confused.  Yeah, Harry really was a space-flying turtle.  “The what?”

“IVOLS?” Harry said, maybe not sure if he’d gotten it right.  He started ticking things off his fingers.  It sounded like he was going through a list he’d memorized.  “I, that’s intelligence. Does the shapechanger lose intelligence when changed?  V, volition. Does the shapechanger have self-control or not? O, origin. How did the shapechanger get to shapechange? Is it inborn, acquired, caused by a curse, spell, or something else? L, limits. Are there limits on when the shapechanger can change—like, is it only at the full moon or something—and other limits, like being sensitive to wolfsbane.  S, special. Are there any special advantages? Is the shapechanger immune to any metal but silver? Are any abilities kept in human shape, like strength or sense of smell?” He looked really pleased with himself.  The professor was just staring. 

Harry went on. “So, an Animagus keeps human intelligence, stays in control when changed, learned to change by studying stuff and using lots of magic, may have a more animal emo—Elmo—uh, _emotional_ makeup when changed—that means dogs feel doggy, I guess—but no special stuff.  Weapons and curses and things work the same on them as they do on anybody.

“But, a werewolf—the kind you have here—loses intelligence, tries to kill people, got cursed, can’t be hurt by, uh, Muggle weapons unless they’re silver or something, has to change when there’s a full moon and can’t stop it, but doesn’t have special stuff when they’re human except you can tell they’re a werewolf if you know what to look for.”

The teacher was still staring at Harry.  “What do you mean the kind of werewolf we have here?”

Harry squirmed like a kid who gave the wrong answer in class (and cared). “Other kinds are different?  Like, the Children of the Moon?  Most of them are born, even if some of them can’t change till they’re teenagers.” Harry rolled his eyes.  Emma silently agreed. Stuff you couldn’t do till you were _old?_   Who cared? “They can only pass it on to Moontouched, people who already have some moon magic in them.  They can learn how to keep their minds human when they change.  Same thing with volition, they can learn to do it.  But, if they don’t learn, they act like a wolf.  Mostly.  A really mean, hungry wolf. They change three nights a month, but there are ways to control it. Oh, and they have wolf senses and extra speed and strength even when they’re human.”

Just then, the door to the headmaster’s office opened.  Mr. Gold didn’t have his scales, but the teacher still stared at him and Aunt Belle.  Emma wondered if maybe leather wasn’t very good blending-in clothes after all.

“Oh, Severus,” the headmaster said.  “So glad you could join us.  This is Mr. and Mrs. Gold, Harry Potter’s adoptive parents.  I’m sure you’re as glad to meet them as I am.”

_Adoptive?_

Emma’s head spun.  Harry was adopted.  The Golds had adopted him.

They hadn’t adopted any more kids, and Harry was ten.  They had all the kids they wanted.  Emma wasn’t going to think . . . the thing she wasn’t thinking.  She _wasn’t._   It was too silly, anyway.

“Delighted,” the teacher said (Emma didn’t think he meant it). “You might have warned me, Headmaster.”

“Oh, didn’t want to get anyone’s hopes up, before they got here.  The Golds live in America, and you know how difficult travel can be sometimes.”

“Indeed.  And how difficult communications can be.  I thought the wizarding community there said they were quite certain Mr. Potter wasn’t there.”

“Bureaucrats,” Mr. Gold said. “Most likely, they were looking for records under ‘P’ and not ‘G.’  Well, come along Harry, Emma.  We have to get a move on.  Things to do, places to be.”

“Er, yes,” the headmaster said. “But, I hope we will be seeing Mr. Potter this coming fall?”

“I said we’d discuss it,” Mr. Gold said.  “We’ll let you know our final decision.”

“Yes, of course.  But—”

“We’ll _discuss_ it,” Mr. Gold repeated.  He looked at Harry and Emma.  “As a family.”  His eyes met Emma’s as he said it.  Emma’s tummy did a flip-flop.  He couldn’t mean—He didn’t mean—He was just saying that because they were pretending to be a family.  _Pretending._ That was the reason he looked at her like that. 

But, Aunt Belle was smiling at her in a sad-happy-hopeful kind of way.

Emma fingered the soft sleeves of her blend-in dress.  _They’re weird people I met on the train.  They talk to ghosts and wizards._

And maybe she was just like a stray kitten to them.  Sure, you might pick it up and pet it.  But, you forgot about it five minutes after you put it down.  Or people told you you’d forget about it five minutes after you put it down.  And what if it had fleas?

“Come along,” Mr. Gold said, leading them out.  “We’ve still got a great deal to do.  I think there were some museums you wanted to see?” he asked Aunt Belle.

“The ones in Edinburgh,” Aunt Belle said.  “And do you think we’ll make it to the Bowes Museum tomorrow?  I think the children would love to see the silver swan.”

_The children._

Pulling her cloak on, Emma followed them out of the castle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This got a bit more serious than most of these stories have been. That's what happens when Emma is trying very hard not to think about being part of a family.


	4. Can We Keep Her?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rumplestiltskin and Belle discuss the cold, hot chocolate, and adoption.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I meant to get Emma and the Golds over to the Bowes Museum, home of the famous Silver Swan (really). Because, if you take Emma Swan to Great Britain, you're going to take her to see the Silver Swan. But, I needed Belle and Gold to be clear about some other things before that happened.

“Why do they enjoy doing that?” Rumplestiltskin asked, baffled.

Harry and Emma were rushing up the hill _again_ dragging their sleds behind them.  At least, the trail up was now thoroughly stomped into being.  The first few times, the children had been sinking into snow up to their boot tops and fighting for each step, all for ten seconds of whooshing back down again.

“Didn’t you ever go sledding when you were a boy?  Or was it too long ago?” Belle teased.

“Three hundred years isn’t that long,” Rumple said. “And of course, we had sleds. They were for pulling things through the snow.  Like firewood.  That you were taking home so you could keep warm.  Which you couldn’t do outside.  Because, it was cold and miserable.  Because, that’s what snow is.  And no one likes it.”

“Harry and Emma do.”

Rumplestiltskin shuddered.  “They better have something hot to drink at the museum.”

“They do.   Coffee, tea, and hot chocolate.  Although, they charge extra for the cream and marshmallows.”

Rumplestiltskin shuddered again.  “It’s worse than Granny’s.”

“You can’t even feel the cold.”

“I remember what it was like.  This was why indoor heating was invented.”

“You’re going to magic up a cold for yourself just so we’ll feel sorry for you, aren’t you?”

“I’ve earned one, standing out here.”

“Now, now, look at all that spider venom you collected.  You wouldn’t have gotten any of that if we hadn’t come here.”

“That’s true,” he admitted.  He’d had a little chat with a few of the giant spiders that had come out to investigate the noise, explained that the Gold family was strictly off limits, collected a fine in several quarts of venom from the slow learners, and threatened to collect several other parts if anything else in the forest bothered them while they were here.  Several of the magic books he’d picked up the last time they passed through this world suggested there were quite a few, magical uses for the venom.  And, if not, well, it was venom.  He could always find something to do with that.

But, venom or no venom, he was never going to understand how children could _enjoy_ playing in the cold.  He thought of Emma when she’d snuck onto the train with them.  Her coat had been old and worn.  He supposed it was adequate—barely—but not much more.  Even though she was now wearing the winter cloak he’d bought her (it was really an inverness coat. But, if calling it a cloak kept the wizards and their don’t-be-mistaken-for-Muggles issues happy while saving their children from freezing to death, who was he to argue?), he couldn’t imagine her wearing it in New York. Even at age seven, fashion trumped sense every time. 

If Belle heard him say that, she would say a man who once had five wardrobes full of leather pants shouldn’t talk.  But, it still wasn’t something he liked sending a child back to.  If this was the old world, he could have had Emma adopted into a royal family faster than a museum café served up chocolate.  But, this world was more complicated.  How to tell Belle, after knowing Emma less than three days, that he wanted to adopt her?

“So,” Belle said. “How are we going to adopt Emma?”

“W-what?”

“Adopt her,” Belle said.  “We’re going to, aren’t we?”

“No—I mean, yes—I mean, I was thinking about it, but—How do you know I want to adopt her?”

“Because I’m your wife and I know how you think.”

“Oh. Right.  That.  But, even if we want to keep her, there’s Regina.  She’s going to notice if we bring someone new into town.”

“Oh, that part’s easy.”

“It is?”

“Of course.  Regina likes making people miserable, right?”

“That is what the curse is about,” Rumple conceded cautiously, not sure where she was going with this.

“So, convince her having another child would make you miserable.  Drop a few hints that you can’t think of anything worse than having another pair of little feet running around the house, but that I’m trying to talk you into it.”

“Female feet.  I’ll let her know I can’t think of anything worse  than letting you indulge your maniac desire to buy pretty dresses—and shoes, lots of shoes—for a little girl.”

Belle nodded.  “Exactly.  And try to think of sledding when you tell her.  She’ll know it terrifies you if you do that.”

“I’ll tell her you want someone to read _Go Away, Big Green Monster_  to.  So, she’ll know I’ll suffer.” Despite being a greenish monster himself, Rumple liked to think he had nothing against the story itself. But, Harry had gone through a phase when he was three when he needed to have that story read to him before bed every night.  Rumplestiltskin didn’t blame Belle for reading it to him.  That didn’t mean she had to read it to him the five or six times he asked every evening. 

“Emma’s seven.  She’s too old for _Go Away, Big Green Monster_.”

“Regina won’t know that.  We’ll get her to sign off on the idea—Ask her to write a character reference for the adoption agency.  That way, she’ll be sure she’s twisting the knife.  We shouldn’t have to keep Emma hidden for more than a day or two.”

“What about the people in New York?  Won’t they raise a fuss?”

“I’ve already figured that part out,” Rumplestiltskin said. “Emma was found as a baby in Maine.  That’s where she was headed when she followed us onto the train.  I’ll tell the people in New York the truth.  I’m a small town lawyer.  When this little girl showed up looking for her family, I was intrigued.  As someone who knows where all the bodies are buried,” literally as well as figuratively, but no need to tell them that, “I did some investigating, followed up some old rumors, and found the young lady’s birth family, on whose behalf I’m acting.”  The trick was to throw just enough proof and pressure that things moved quickly and no one asked awkward questions, but not so much that people realized you were trying to get them to move quickly without asking awkward questions.  “By the way, that story isn’t really a lie.  You see—”

“Snow ball fight!  Snow ball fight!” Emma yelled from the bottom of the hill, clobbering Harry with a huge chunk of frozen cold. 

Harry laughed and grabbed a big ball of cold of his own to throw back at her.  Emma giggled and ducked.  Rumplestiltskin shuddered.  “Tell me again, Belle, _why_ do they enjoy doing that?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The book, "Go Away, Big Green Monster" wasn't published till 1992, a couple years after this story. However, having known a three year old who needed to hear it over and over again every night, I know why Rumple found it almost as terrifying as snow.
> 
> According to their online menu, the Bowes Museum charges extra for marshmallows and cream in their hot chocolate.


	5. Snozzcumbers and Other Things that should be Avoided

Rumplestiltskin considered telling Emma to put her eyes back in her head when the servers brought out high tea at the museum’s cafe, but Belle wouldn’t have liked it.  It reminded him of a dog he’d known once with eyes big as saucers. This wasn’t really surprising since the dog was set to guarding a treasure in a very poorly lit, underground cave.  Long story, there.  But, it had all ended well.  Or it had for the dog, and what else mattered?

Since they had already crammed more shopping and meals than Rumplestiltskin thought could be fit into such a short vacation (and was beginning to wonder if Belle had some previously unsuspected talent to fold spacetime to accomplish it) he didn’t think Emma needed to look _that_ surprised.  But, he supposed it was the presentation.  The museum was doing a display about a children’s book, something called _The BFG._ It wasn’t one he’d read, but he understood it was by the same author who’d written _Charlie and the Chocolate Factory_.  The food all looked like something that would have been happy in that movie

There were souvenir menu cards with pictures of the characters from the book (a large-eared giant and a little girl).  Emma picked one up and looked from the card to the food and back again.  He could see her struggling to sound out the words, but they were beyond her. “Which is which?” she asked a bit desperately.

Rumplestiltskin’s deal making instincts kicked in.  He gave Belle a look.  _A desperate soul,_ that look said.  _Ho, ho, ho._

Belle shot him a look of her own.  _Don’t you dare._

Well, it wasn’t that he didn’t _dare_.  But, even if he was in the habit of shaking down seven year olds (he remembered a desperate six year old who had summoned him once and, having heard stories about the Dark One and completely misunderstanding them, had offered him a hamster as his “firstborn.”  Not an experience Rumplestiltskin ever wanted to repeat.  Trying to keep his reputation for ruthlessness while making a deal that kept his castle rodent free (that was the ONLY reason he hadn’t taken the hamster, no matter what ANYONE ELSE [like Belle] said).

Besides, the only thing he wanted from Emma at the moment was for her not to spend the rest of the day on a sugar high and, as he’d ordered the meal himself, he knew that wasn’t happening.

Instead, Rumplestiltskin picked up his own menu.  “Trying to figure out which is which?” he asked Emma.  He pointed to her drink, some kind of fruit punch with a bunch of very bizarre looking candies in it.  “I think that one’s the. . . .” He squinted at the menu.  He was going to have to say this out loud, wasn’t he? “’Trogglehumper dream jar.’”

“Trogglehumper?” Emma asked, not quite believing he’d said that.

“I think so.  And that—” He pointed to a creatively cut sandwich, “—is the ‘whoopsy whiffling ham and pease pudding.’”

Emma giggled.  “Pease pudding?  _Pease?_ ”

Rumplestiltskin continued through the list.  There was a snozzcumber sandwich, time-twiddler cheese, and a dozen or so others.  Apparentely, a grown-up saying these names was the funniest thing Emma had ever heard. 

Last of all, he pointed to Emma’s other drink, a chocolate concoction in a mason jar with a candy straw (with extra candies stuck to it about halfway down, apparently to give children something to work for once they started working their way down).  Keeping a perfectly straight face, he said, “And that must be the ‘chocolate frobscuttle smoothie.’”

Emma was beside herself.  “Frobscuttle.  You said _frobscuttle._ ”

Rumplestiltskin did not dignify that with a reply. 

Emma pointed at Rumplestiltskin’s drink.  “But, what’s that?”

“Tea,” Rumplestiltskin said.

“Tea?  Just tea?”

There were some lines no one in the British Empire crossed, and tea was one them.  “Just tea.”

“Oh,” Emma slumped and took a couple more bites of her snozzcumber.  “What’s _The BFG_ , anyway?” she asked.

Belle looked momentarily horrified, as if Emma had asked, “What’s a bed?” or “What do you mean, you don’t always feel hungry?” Then, forcing herself to sound calm, she answered, “It’s a children’s book.  A little girl, Sophie, meets the BFG, the Big Friendly Giant.  He keeps her safe from the other giants, who aren’t so friendly—”

“They eat people!” Harry broke in.  “And they beat up the BFG a _lot._ ”

“What?” Emma looked outraged.  “Why do they do that?”

“Because he’s smaller than them,” Harry said.  “And he doesn’t like to hurt people.  He gives them dreams instead.”

“What does that mean?”

“In Giant Land, dreams are like bugs or butterflies. The BFG catches them.  He locks up the nightmares but he mixes the good ones together—he can make any kind of dream he likes—and gives them to kids at night.  That’s how he meets Sophie.  She was awake when she should have been asleep so she sees him sending dreams out in the orphanage where she lives.”

“Huh,” Emma looked at the picture on the menu, studying the giant who took children away from orphanages.  She looked at Rumplestiltskin.  “He looks like you,” she said.

The giant in the drawing was bald with huge ears the sort of ragged clothes Rumplestiltskin hadn’t worn in 300 years.  But, Emma had a militant look on her face, and Rumplestiltskin thought she was already imagining how to take on an army of giants to protect him, like a pint-sized body guard.  “Uh, thanks.”

“This is a weird museum,” Emma said.  “It looks like a castle.”

“The man who had it built, John Bowes, grew up in a castle,” Belle said.  “He probably thought that’s what a museum should look like.”

“Was he king?” Emma asked, interested.

Belle, daughter of the Lord of the Marchlands, managed not to wince. “No, but his father was an earl.” She heroically managed to suppress any lengthy explanations about titles of nobility.  “The money to build the museum actually came from his grandmother.”

“Was she a queen?” Emma asked.

“She was just a regular person, Mary Bowes,” Belle said.  “A very rich, regular person.  She might have been the richest woman in Europe.  But, she wasn’t a queen or a duchess or anything like that.”

Emma stared at her.  “How do you know all that?”

“I read a little bit about her before the trip.  She had a fascinating life.  I think the gift shop has a book on her.  I wonder if I should buy it?”

Rumplestiltskin smirked. “We all know what you’re going to decide.”

“He’s got you there, Mum,” Harry said.

“It needs to be a _good_ biography,” Belle insisted.  “Although, she was very interesting.  Strong-willed.  Her husband tried to steal all her money—that’s her second husband.  The earl was her first husband.”  Apparently, Belle didn’t want Emma to think a greedy money-stealer had anything to do with making a decent museum.

“She shouldn’t have married him,” Emma said firmly.

“He tricked her,” Belle said. “There was a man writing awful things about her in the newspaper.  He challenged the man to a duel, was terribly wounded, and asked her to marry him before he died.  Except he was lying.  He’d written the stories himself and paid a man to publish them.  Then, he pretended to fight him.  He wasn’t even hurt.”

“She still shouldn’t have married him,” Emma said.

“I agree,” Belle said.  She pressed her lips together.  “She might have thought it was romantic.  Before she knew what he was really like.  Or people told her she had to.  That it was the right thing to do.”

“Or he may have had an army she needed,” Rumplestiltskin said gently.  “People do what they have to when they need to protect people.”

Belle nodded but she told Emma, “Even if you really need an army, you shouldn’t marry him.  Don’t even get engaged.  Tell him you’ll think about it, but you can’t possibly make a decision like that till the Ogre invasion—or whatever you need the army for—is over. 

“And make sure he has an army,” Belle added.  “The man Mary Bowes married pretended to be an army captain, but even that wasn’t true.  He was just a lieutenant.  If she’d needed an army, he couldn’t have led more than a handful into battle.”

Emma digested that bit of advice and looked at Harry.  “Are they always like that?”

“Pretty much,” Harry said.  “’Don’t trust liars.’  ‘Don’t trust people who only pretend to be heroes.’  ‘Don’t hang out with people who’ve tried to kill you.’  ‘If someone tries to kill you, get away from them and tell us immediately.’”

“Do people do that a lot?  Try to kill you?”

“Not that I remember.  Our town’s boring.  But, maybe school will be more interesting.”

“If your school’s that interesting, we’re bringing you home,” Rumplestiltskin said.  “Schools where people try to kill you are definitely on the things-to-avoid list.”

“Right, Dad,” Harry said. “Don’t go to schools where they kill people and don’t marry captains who are really lieutenants.  Anything else?”

“Pirates,” Rumplestiltskin told him. “Avoid pirates. They’re as bad as the rest put together.  Now, eat up.  We don’t want to miss what's coming next.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is set in the Bowes Museum cafe, which is a real place, home of the silver swan. The Bowes Museum had a display of "The BFG in Pictures" that ran from July 14th to September 30th of 2018, much too late for seven year old Emma and ten year old Harry to see it. However, this is another world where the same display happened much earlier.
> 
> The food they eat is from the BFG Afternoon Tea menu. I don't know how crodscollop would taste in real life, but I'm assuming it all tasted fantastic when the Golds were there.
> 
> If you doubt me about the menu, here's a link:
> 
> http://thebowesmuseum.org.uk/Portals/0/Documents/Whats%20On/BFG%20in%20Pictures/BFG%20Afternoon%20Tea%20Menu.pdf?ver=2018-07-25-100748-273
> 
> The story about Mary Bowes is also correct, although Belle left out some of the more dramatic bits that wouldn't have been appropriate for a seven year old. But, they gave her more than enough grounds for a divorce.

**Author's Note:**

> Ghost trains follow their own rules, which is why the Golds were able to take one out of Storybrooke.
> 
> I decided the train shown in Storybrooke in season 5 was a ghost train, since there's no other explanation for how it broke through the curse on the town line.


End file.
